


might turn okay

by brilligspoons



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Cats, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 08:15:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2644625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brilligspoons/pseuds/brilligspoons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is all alone in a new city. Well, not entirely alone. There <i>is</i> a cat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	might turn okay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [static_abyss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/static_abyss/gifts).



> OKAY, SO, I really loved all your prompts and wanted to write you a story for every single one of them, but that wasn't physically possible between work and other factors. Such is life, etc. Anyway, I tried to blend several things from your likes and prompts, so this has past Scott/Stiles with them still being long-distance BFFs, a cat-share of sorts, and Danny/Stiles. I hope you like it! :3
> 
> Title comes from "Keep Together" by Hunter Hunted.

They haven't been on Skype for very long when Scott does a double-take at something over Stiles' shoulder.

"Dude, I thought your landlord said no pets," Scott says.

Stiles frowns and says, "He did, I don't have one," but when he whips his head around to find out what Scott's talking about, he sees a tiny blur shoot across his floor. He sighs. It's one of the strays that live in his new neighborhood, a pretty black-and-brown mottled thing that's probably just barely an adult. Most of the cats are fairly skittish around humans, but this one appears to have adopted Stiles, regularly climbing into his apartment through the kitchen window he can never remember to close.

The cat mews once before it leaps onto Stiles' lap and settles down. He doesn't really mind her coming in, to be honest, and one of these days he intends to take her to a vet to make sure she's at least healthy, but he can't risk his landlord hearing her inside the house. This is the only place within walking distance of the bus he takes to the train that he could afford on his own, and after being kicked out of his first apartment by his shitty roommates after just two months, he—well. Adopting a stray, no matter how cuddly and personable and lovely she is, probably isn't worth having to go through house-hunting again. Moving is the absolute worst.

Stiles scratches the base of her ears and smiles when she starts to purr. He looks up at his computer screen again to find Scott grinning like an idiot at him. It's the same grin Scott used to give him when he'd done something Scott found ridiculously endearing back when they were still dating. Stiles glances back down at the cat, hoping the low lighting and glow from the computer screen will hide the flush creeping up his neck and face.

He picks the cat up and holds her close to the screen. "What do you think I should call her?"

"You want to name the stray you're not allowed to keep? Dude."

"I can't just keep calling her 'the stray.' Don't be rude to my new best friend."

Scott laughs and shakes his head at him. Stiles sets the cat back down on his lap and tries not to melt when she rubs her head against his chest and purrs again.

"Cuddles," Stiles says. "I'm going to call her Cuddles."

He refuses to listen to any other suggestions and threatens to sign off early if Scott doesn't stop laughing at the cat's new name. Around eleven they say good night so Stiles can get some sleep and Scott can head out for his shift at the hospital. Stiles toys with the idea of letting Cuddles stay inside overnight, if only so he can spend a few hours not feeling like the walls are closing in on him.

In the end, he falls asleep without making a decision either way, and when he wakes up in the morning, Cuddles is sunning herself on the ledge outside his kitchen window.

 _Screw it,_ Stiles thinks. _She can stay._

***

Teaching preschool hadn't been Stiles' original career choice, but after spending most of the morning pretending that the classroom was a jungle full of all kinds of animals, he can't say that he regrets making the switch from criminal justice to early childhood education at all.

Stiles usually cat-naps during post-lunch quiet time, but today he spends the half hour in the hallway texting his dad and Scott, both of whom were just getting off from work. It's difficult, there being so many hours and miles between him and them. He used to think that he'd be able to handle living on his own, but the reality of an empty apartment that his dad wouldn't be coming home to and filling with his off-key renditions of Top 40 radio hits, and an empty bed that Scott wouldn't be crawling into after a brutal 16-hour shift at the hospital, is just—too much, really. It's a lot, and he can admit, at least to himself, that he's _not_ handling it.

It's only been six months since the move, though. He's pretty sure he'll be fine eventually. In the meantime, he's got the cat.

***

Cuddles the Cat Queen, which he decides is her official moniker after a night of very little sleep, stays with Stiles on what seems to be a very specific schedule.

The first night was a Monday, and she turns up again on Wednesday, and then Friday. She disappears out his kitchen window early Saturday morning and comes back around the time he's opening a can of tuna for his own lunch, eats with him, and then meanders back out until lunchtime on Sunday. She naps on Stiles' chest for most of the afternoon, then curls up on the ledge outside his window that night, ignoring his attempts to draw her back into the warmth of his apartment.

She repeats this itinerary for four weeks straight, though Stiles only recognizes the pattern for what it is halfway through the third week. He doesn't mind, though he is a bit confused by Cuddles' behavior. He asks Scott about it, and Scott shakes his head with a grin but dutifully calls his ex-boss at the vet's office when Stiles asks for a professional opinion.

"Honestly," Dr. Deaton says, voice somewhat distorted through Scott's speakerphone and Stiles' computer speakers, "chances are she has another, ah, benefactor who's taking care of her on those days."

"You mean my cat's seeing someone else?" Stiles asks. "That's harsh."

"I'm sure she doesn't mean to cheat on you," says Scott.

"Ha-freaking-ha. But thanks, doc, I'm just a little -"

"Attached?" Deaton and Scott say together.

Stiles scoffs but gets distracted by Cuddles pouncing on one of his slippers and wrestling with it. He catches himself doing it midway through what is probably a ridiculous grin, judging by the way Scott is laughing at him. _Fine_ , he thinks. _They may have a point._

***

It's a frigid day in early December when Stiles literally crashes into Cuddles' other human.

To be fair, it's been sleeting off and on for two days, so the sidewalks are frozen and slick. Most of his neighbors haven't bothered to throw out salt or ice melt, making his already grouchy landlord sound even grumpier the few times Stiles crossed paths with him. Stiles had heard New England winter horror stories from Lydia all throughout her undergrad at MIT, so he'd tried to prepare by buying the best boots his meager teacher salary could afford, and so far they'd been great.

Great boots, however, only do so much when one is rushing out the door and not paying attention to one's surroundings at the same time another person is heading inside the building and likewise oblivious.

Stiles barely notices what's happened until he's already on the ground. He groans and rolls onto his side, taking it as a good sign that it's mostly his backside that hurts and not his head. He's already running late, and it'd be a pain in the ass ( _hah_ ) to have to deal with a sprained or broken limb during his first year of teaching.

A gloved hand appears in his line of vision.

"Here, let's get you up," presumably the person Stiles had just run into says. Stiles follows the line of the stranger's arm up until he makes eye contact with them.

 _Oh no_ , Stiles thinks, fully aware that he must look like an idiot right now, lying on the icy sidewalk and gaping up at the stranger, who's saying something that Stiles can't quite make out over how incredibly _hot_ this guy is.

"- dude? Are you okay? You didn't hit your head, did you?"

"I'm fine," Stiles manages to say, though he feels a bit like he _did_ hit his head. "You're fine. Uh, I mean, you are fine, right? I wasn't looking where I was going at all."

The guy smiles at him, and Stiles is so utterly screwed he can't even laugh at himself. If he were just attractive, it'd be fine, Stiles could deal with it, but that smile—it reminds him, vividly, of Scott's smile, the sort of wholesome, lopsided boy-next-door grin that never fails to make Stiles go weak at the knees. It also doesn't help at all that the guy easily lifts him up from the ground with one arm when he finally takes the offered hand. Adorable, plus muscles hidden somewhere underneath that peacoat and sweater combo? Stiles doesn't bother pretending he had a chance at resisting.

"Hi," he says. The guy chuckles and ducks his head. _Dear god, I am in love_ , Stiles thinks. "I'm Stiles, I moved in a couple months ago."

"Danny. I live on the third floor." He leans in and whispers, "With my cat, but don't tell our landlord."

Stiles' brain goes to mush. "No worries, man. I sort of have a cat, too. Well, she's a stray, I think, but we have a regular thing going."

Danny's grin gets bigger. "Calico? Shows up every other day or so?"

"Yeah?" Stiles says. His heart sinks.

"Yeah, that's mine. Her name's Ghanima. She's chipped, but I didn't think she'd be going outside at all and didn't want the landlord hearing anything, so I never got her tags. Don't even ask me how she gets out, though. When she wasn't coming back covered in dirt, I figured she had some place safe to go."

 _Of course she belongs to someone else_ , Stiles thinks, trying not to look too broken up about it. "I, uh, called her Cuddles."

Danny laughs. "That's adorable, and totally accurate, dude." He looks down at his watch. "I'm guessing you're on your way to work? Mind if Ghanima and I stop by tonight for a proper introduction?"

Stiles nods, nearly gives himself whiplash in the process. _Cool it, Stilinski, he just wants to make sure I'm not going to sacrifice his cat or something._ "I'm home around 5. I can make us dinner, if that sounds okay with you?" he blurts out. _Oh god, is that too much too soon? It's too much. He's going to run away screaming._

"It's a date," Danny replies. He hesitates, then says, "You sure you're alright? You're looking a little dazed."

"Totally fine, dude," says Stiles. "Except for the part where I am massively late, oh my god."

Danny pats his shoulder as he walks past him. "Don't go running into anyone else today, okay?"

Stiles lets out a strangled _okay_ in response, but Danny's already inside the building. He stands there on the sidewalk, trying to figure out what his feelings are doing exactly. _What if he says I can't see Cuddles anymore_? he thinks wildly. _What if he ends up hating me? What am I even going to make for dinner tonight? What if he hates what I make, or he's allergic to it? Oh my god, why do I do this to myself?_ He gives up after a few seconds, though, both because he's too wound up to sort through the ridiculous tangle his brain's turned into, and also because the bus chooses that exact moment to come careening around the corner towards his stop.

***

While Stiles isn't the worst cook he knows (that honor rests with both Scott and Scott's new girlfriend, Allison, and how they haven't managed to poison each other yet, he's not sure), his repertoire is, in a word, limited. Which, really, is being generous—he makes a mean veggie lasagne and hasn't burned one yet, can boil pasta without over- or under-cooking it, and has four or five decent chicken recipes under his belt as well. In the resulting panic over accidentally inviting Danny over for dinner, however, Stiles manages to stumble into his apartment at 5:30 that evening with a package of ground beef, a single cucumber, and a large jar of diced garlic.

It's not his most successful trip to the grocery store by a long shot, but, he supposes as he stares down at the ingredients sitting on his countertop, he can make do. By the time Danny knocks on his door, covert cat carrier in hand, Stiles has spaghetti and a cobbled-together meat sauce at the ready. This, of course, is when Danny announces that he's a vegetarian.

"Please just let me crawl under my bed in shame," Stiles groans. "I can't believe I forgot to ask you about this."

"Dude, it's my own fault for not saying anything this morning," replies Danny, grinning. He takes Ghanima out of her carrier and hands her to Stiles before rolling up his sleeves and walking into the kitchen area. "Don't worry, I spend a lot of time fixing things. I can handle this, no problem."

"You can handle me," Stiles mumbles into Ghanima's fur.

"What?"

"Nothing! Nothing. You need help? I can help. I'm really good at helping."

***

It's almost midnight when Danny says he needs to go home and get some sleep.

They've spent the better part of the last six hours eating, playing with the cat, and talking, it seems, about anything and everything they can think of, from their jobs and their families to their mutual love for all things Star Wars. Danny's eyes light up with recognition when Stiles mentions Beacon Hills; he was born there, he says, but his parents had moved the family back to Honolulu to be closer with the rest of their relatives not too long after that. Stiles tells Danny about dating Scott and their decision to go back to being friends a few months before he moved east, about his dad, and admitting how incredibly lonely he's been. Danny listens intently and is sympathetic, recounting the failed relationships, both platonic and romantic, that almost made him give up and move back to the island.

"Not to mention the winters," he says. "Wait until January, dude, it's going to be brutal. I don't wish this on the worst of my exes."

Stiles groans. "I thought my friend was exaggerating. I don't want to think about what she'll say when I finally admit she was telling me the truth all these years."

"There, there. I'm sure she won't be too mean to you about it." Danny pats Stiles' leg, then stands up and stretches. Stiles resists the urge to pull him back down onto the couch and gets up, grabbing their dirty dishes from the coffee table to give himself something to do that isn't propositioning Danny then and there.

"So, minor miscommunication aside," Stiles says as he drops the plates in the sink, "I'd say this was a success."

"Agreed."

"Maybe next time I'll actually manage to make food we can both eat on my own."

"Hope springs eternal, I think they say."

Stiles officially can't take it anymore. He spins around and stares at the ground, because if he looks at Danny now he's probably going to fall over again. "Look, you're, like, smoking hot, and your cat is probably the best thing that's happened to me since I moved here, and -" The rest of his sentence is swallowed up in a gasp because Danny, who he could've sworn was already halfway out the door, is kissing him.

And—it's really nice. Like, _incredibly_ nice. He could happily be kissed like this for the rest of his life, is the thing to take away from this.

 _Well, this is an unexpected turn of events_ , Stiles thinks.

Danny draws back. "So, my cat's the best thing that's happened to you since you moved here, huh," he says.

"I might be willing to reconsider that statement," replies Stiles. "Just give me a second to restart my brain and evaluate."

He gets another kiss instead.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my beta, light of my life and love of my heart, for making sure everything made as much sense as possible here <3


End file.
